After Dark Films
It seems a bit odd to take on a movie review of Courtney Solomon's Getaway, as only in the loosest terms is Getaway actually a movie. We begin without questions — other than a vague and frustrating "What the hell is going on?" — and end without answers, watching Ethan Hawke drive his car into things (and people) for the hour and a half in between. We learn very little along the way, probed to engage in the mystery of the journey. But we don't, because there's no reason to.
There's not a single reason to wonder about any of the things that happen to Hawke's former racecar driver/reformed criminal — forced to carry out a series of felonious commands by a mysterious stranger who is holding his wife hostage — because there doesn't seem to be a single ounce of thought poured into him beyond what he see. We learn, via exposition delivered by him to gun-toting computer whiz Selena Gomez, that he "did some bad things" before meeting the love of his life and deciding to put that all behind him. Then, we stop learning. We stop thinking. We start crashing into police cars and Christmas trees and power plants.
Why is Selena Gomez along for the ride? Well, the beginnings of her involvement are defensible: Hawke is carrying out his slew of vehicular crimes in a stolen car. It's her car. And she's on a rampage to get it back. But unaware of what she's getting herself into, Gomez confronts an idling Hawke with a gun, is yanked into the automobile, and forced to sit shotgun while the rest of the driver's "assignments" are carried out. But her willingness to stick by Hawke after hearing his story is ludicrous. Their immediate bickering falls closer to catty sexual tension than it does to genuine derision and fear (you know, the sort of feelings you'd have for someone who held you up or forced you into accessorizing a buffet of life-threatening crimes).
After Dark Films
The "gradual" reversal of their relationship is treated like something we should root for. But with so little meat packed into either character, the interwoven scenes of Hawke and Gomez warming up to each other and becoming a team in the quest to save the former's wife serve more than anything else as a breather from all the grotesque, impatient, deliberately unappealing scenes of city wreckage.
And as far as consolidating the mystery, the film isn't interested in that either, as evidenced by its final moments. Instead of pressing focus on the answers to whatever questions we may have, the movie's ultimate reveal is so weak, unsubstantial, and entirely disconnected to the story entirely, that it seems almost offensive to whatever semblance of a film might exist here to go out on this note. Offensive to the idea of film and story in general, as a matter of fact. But Getaway isn't concerned with these notions. Not with story, character, logic, or humanity. It just wants to show us a bunch of car crashes and explosions. So you'd think it might have at least made those look a little better.
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Jim Davis (Bale) is an Afghanistan War veteran who still dreams of night vision combat. He seems to find comfort in his Mexican girlfriend but he goes back to L.A. to hang with his “homie ” Mike (Freddy Rodriguez). Mike in turn is married to the lovely Sylvia (Eva Longoria) a successful lawyer who wants her man to find a purpose in life too--or at least a paycheck. Jim thinks the easy ticket will be a law enforcement job so he can take care of both of them but he’s rejected. So the duo hit their old haunts stealing drugs getting high and faking phone calls from prospective employers. But they’ve got to do a quick come down after Jim gets a call from the Department of Homeland Security. The fact he’s already smoked up will not bode well for the urine test. Still Jim finds a way to slip through because this job is more than a power trip for Jim. It could allow him to bring his girlfriend to the U.S. and marry her. Nothing goes exactly as planned though. Mike must choose between his dangerous friend and his loving stable girl while Jim must survive his past to have any chance at a future. If Christian Bale is starring in an indie you know he going to be at least slightly psycho--American Psycho The Machinist to name a few. Few could make Jim as realistic as he does. Denzel Washington successfully does a charismatic street tough in Training Day but the British Bale has the manner and language down. When he says homie and other less printable slang it sounds like he knows how to use it carrying himself like the pompous gangsta. He’s scary seems unstoppable and you actually may want him to meet his end. Rodriguez plays Mike like a naïve man-child going along with his buddy despite evidence that it’s not in his best interest. It’s the less showy part so it’s hard to compare but you always believe him in the role. Longoria has a truly thankless part the totally normal one in a crazy world. The audience will relate and side with her but the actress has no chance to show any crazy quirks. All the time her Sylvia is so much classier you wonder what the attraction ever was to Mike. Some supporting actors also stand out. J.K. Simmons does his authority thing as the Homeland Security recruiter while Terry Crews is the most dimensional drug dealer seen in a while. He’ll do crime but he admonishes the boys to respect their ladies. Everyone will call Harsh Times gritty but what does that mean? Is it because of the language and violence? That’s a no-brainer in a crime story. Is it because the film is all grainy? That makes it look like a home movie but it doesn’t make “Baby’s First Bath” gritty. Is it because it’s dimly lit? That’s just hard to see not gritty. Harsh Times is all those things but the problem is who wants to watch this? Director David Ayer does create a believable world of street life but the plot ambles on. Two unredeemable guys get into trouble. They toke up but aren’t funny about it. They fight and shoot people but for no reason. They amuse each other but their exploits are hardly cinematic. It’s actually not all that entertaining of a world to visit but it achieves the discomfort an audience would feel like driving through the streets with their windows rolled up. Maybe that’s the moral of the story but honestly we don’t need a two-hour lecture; we already know.
David Callaway (Robert De Niro) is having a tough time dealing with the apparent suicide of his wife (Amy Irving). His young daughter Emily (Dakota Fanning) also has taken her mother's death very hard retreating into her own little world. As a psychologist David decides the only way to help Emily is to move from the big city to a house in the country. Sure that kind of thing usually works like a charm. Emily does perk up a bit when she finds a new "friend " Charlie who likes to have fun and play hide and seek with her. Of course we can't actually see this new friend but that's beside the point. The imaginary Charlie is still a powerful force in Emily's life instructing her not to talk about him much and hating pretty much everyone else in her life including her dad. In short order bad things start happening--yes the family pet gets whacked--which Emily blames on Charlie. This leaves David wondering how his little girl could have turned so psychotic. But wait. Maybe Charlie isn't imaginary after all but actually a flesh-and-blood malevolent presence. Oh god do you think so?
Why you may ask would an acting icon like Robert De Niro star of such classic movies as Raging Bull and Goodfellas choose such a cheesy film as Hide and Seek? Very good question. Maybe he was drawn into the project based on the premise like the rest of us without realizing how derivative the story would get as things progressed. Of course De Niro plays the confused father--dealing with what could possibly be a demonic child--with a fair amount of finesse. But he's a pro that's what he does. Fanning (I Am Sam) too does the best she can as the sunken-eyed pasty-faced Emily. She sulks around rarely smiles and draws scary pictures of people dying horrible deaths which has now become a prerequisite for any child in a scary movie. In the supporting roles Elisabeth Shue Famke Janssen and Dylan Baker are all pretty much wasted. Shue who hasn't acted in anything major since 2000's Hollow Man makes a brief appearance as a potential paramour for David. Janssen (X-Men) playing David's colleague and Emily's confidante thinks living in isolation is a bad idea (and she's right!). Veteran character actor Baker (Kinsey) takes on the predictable role of the hapless town sheriff who never quite gets he's about to be in a world of hurt.
It is always disappointing when the promise of something potentially creepy turns out to possess the same old tired plot points and scare tactics seen countless times before. Director John Polson--best known for helming Swimfan another predictable stalker-gone-mad thriller--and novice screenwriter Ari Schlossberg don't have the necessary skills to take Hide and Seek above and beyond its conventional trappings. To its small credit the film does build a bit of tension in the beginning as David and Emily skirt around each other trying to grasp onto some kind of normalcy. Then when Emily introduces Charlie you continue to hold out hope that somehow the filmmakers will channel some of M. Night Shyamalan's aura and start really scaring the bejesus out of you. But alas it isn't meant to be. Instead you're sitting there pretty much guessing every move the film is going to make before it happens. When the twist finally comes around--you knew there was a twist right?--it doesn't really surprise you whether you've guess it or not.
Sylvia is based on notes released five years ago by the writer's husband British poet Ted Hughes after 30 years of silence (Hughes died of cancer in 1998). They chronicle Sylvia's painful battle with depression frustration over her writing career and jealousy of husband Ted's accomplishments and suspected infidelities. The movie takes up Sylvia's life in 1955 two years after she first attempted suicide; now a seemingly recovered Cambridge student and Fulbright scholar her well-bred all-American beauty and deep intellect attract the notice of aspiring poet Ted Hughes. The two begin a fervent obsessive relationship getting married and having two children while struggling with money and advancing their respective careers. The higher Ted's star rises in the publishing industry however the harder it is for Sylvia to find her voice--losing herself in the shadow of his success she grows increasingly bitter and neurotic about her failures as well as the affairs she believed handsome Ted to be having. Reality or self-fulfilling prophecy? Hard to say but in 1962 Sylvia discovers Ted having a very real affair with their mutual friend so she moves to an apartment in London with the kids. In this tiny flat during one of the coldest winters on record Sylvia Plath begins a frenzied writing period and produces the work that will finally secure her place in the annals of famous women writers: the novel The Bell Jar and the poem Ariel among others. Unfortunately it is in this flat too that Sylvia Plath takes her own life six months later.
In the eponymous role Gwyneth Paltrow (who startlingly resembles Plath) demonstrates a profound empathy with and understanding of the writer who if you're to believe this movie didn't fully understand herself. Essaying a real-life brilliant proto-feminist poet who happens also to be near catatonically depressed is no easy feat but Paltrow takes a deep breath and dives right in delivering an Oscar-caliber performance that may be her best to date. Watch as she almost gaily describes her suicide attempts to an alarmed Ted as their rowboat is being dangerously pulled out to sea or her bizarre and discomfiting reaction during a dinner party as she imagines Ted's lust for another woman at the table. Sylvia seems normal on the outside but Paltrow gives us the barest hint of the demons lurking beneath her polished erudite exterior. As womanizing Ted Hughes a suitably arrogant (and indeed attractive--someone call MGM here's your next Bond) Daniel Craig (Road to Perdition) does what he can in a role limited mostly to reacting to Sylvia's idiosyncrasies until she drives him into another woman's arms; you do though get a sense that he loved her deeply and tolerated as much as he could.
Good as Paltrow is she's limited by director Christine Jeffs' (director of the New Zealand indie Rain) one-dimensional characterization of Sylvia that the writer's legacy of multilayered work belies. The love story takes a front seat to Sylvia's writing career and opinions on gender differences and family reducing Sylvia to a weepy morose soul whose overriding concern is where her husband is at all hours. While the beginning of the film gives you some hints as to Sylvia's mental state that plotline falls by the wayside except in terms of the effect her depression had on her feelings about Ted. Despite recurring scenes of her tortured writing there is scarce mention of Sylvia's work (her most well-known The Bell Jar gets fleeting reference) and regrettably very few lines of it are ever heard. By the end Jeffs seems to be veering toward the feminist opinion that Ted and his philandering created the mental state that drove Sylvia to kill herself. The director does a wonderful job though of setting the time and place with dreary grainy shots of rain-soaked 1960s England and a dead-on period look.